


Heart to Heart

by selflessbellamy



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bonding, F/M, Flashbacks, Half speculation/half unrealistic dreaming tbh, Mild Sexual Content, Post-Season/Series 04, Reunion, SO MUCH PAIN (BC IT'S BELLARKE), canonverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-15
Updated: 2017-09-15
Packaged: 2018-12-30 03:54:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12100161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/selflessbellamy/pseuds/selflessbellamy
Summary: They see each other again, and it's as if the sky falls down...





	Heart to Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to Amber for being a wonderful beta yet again :) Girl, you rock!

** Day 2208 - Earth **

 

They see each other again, and it’s as if the sky falls down.

When dark brown meets ocean blue, the earth beneath their feet threatens to crumble, unable to sustain the force of it, and Bellamy thinks his heart stops beating, just for a moment before it’s suddenly pounding against the inside of his throat. 

“No, no. _No—“_ he repeats the word like a mantra, like it is the only thing that holds his universe together, because he’s been forcing himself to believe this truth for six damned years. Hell, he’d told the girl just before _she_ came running towards them: _Clarke Griffin is dead. She died in Praimfaya, because of him._ He’d spent countless days telling himself that he’d never look into her eyes again, he’d never feel strands of her golden hair between his fingertips, and there’s _no way_ he’d ever get the chance to touch her face one last time… 

… Because she’s _dead._

The short-haired woman who’s standing in front of him right now isn’t her. She can’t be anything but an illusion, a vivid piece of a dream that’s somehow stuck in his world, refusing to leave. Backing away, Bellamy shakes his head frantically, trying to catch his breath and escape his own imagination as he’s done a thousand times before — every time he woke up in cold sweats to find her face tattooed behind his eyelids.

Every time he takes a step backwards, however, the ghost of her takes a step forward, smiling a little through sadness. Finally, she utters his name, causing him to blink and his feet to stop moving.

Then she’s running and it feels like a lifetime passes before she wraps her arms around him, trying to steady him like an anchor, but every breath of air has been knocked from his lungs and his legs can’t carry him anymore: The shattered pieces at the bottom of his stomach are too heavy.

“ _Clarke…_ ” Bellamy sobs as his hand moves to cradle the back of her head, and she feels his tears soak the fabric of her shirt. She’s pretty sure hers are doing the same to his, even though she hasn’t fully registered that she’s crying. 

In the end, what makes her completely aware of it is when Bellamy has pulled back slightly to look at her, his thumbs hopelessly try to dry her cheeks. Touching his face, her fingers long to memorize the unfamiliar roughness of the stubble on his skin.

“It’s okay,” after breathing those words, she places a kiss to each of his cheeks and one to his forehead before she stands up to hug the others.

Thanks to Madi, who had found them first, they’d received a warning before Clarke appeared suddenly.

“ _Wait a second… You’re him,” she’d said, staring at Bellamy in awe, and he hadn’t been able to do anything but mirror the look in her eyes._

_“I’m who?”_

_“Bellamy. Bellamy Blake. You’re the guy she speaks to every day.”_

At first, they all thought it was some kind of mistake, no matter how weird it seemed. But then Raven had asked her if she knew the names of everyone, and of course she did, pointing them out in less than a minute.

Before they’d been able to piece everything together, however, Clarke had appeared, startling them all, especially Bellamy. Next to Clarke, he finally trusts his feet enough to stand, but feels dizzy as soon as his eyes find her again. In spite of this, he simply can’t look away… 

Because she can’t be real. It’s only a matter of time before he wakes up in his bed on the lonely Ring, left with the sound of his heart screaming for her, for just _one more minute._ Somehow, the dream always ends before he has built up enough courage to say what he has regretted not telling her ever since the death wave rolled in.

He wants to tell her right now, but can’t. The words are clogging his throat alongside the sobs that didn’t emerge when she was in his arms, and he can’t say anything at all. Damn, he can hardly breathe. 

As soon as she has let go off Murphy, who’s the last in line to receive a hug, Bellamy reaches for her, his fingertips grazing the sleeve of her jacket — and just like that, she rushes back to him, into his arms that tighten around her now. Her skin smells of every single thing that he has fought to remember when he was stuck in space: Pine, smoke, rain-soaked earth, wildflowers and _home._

And yes, it makes the pieces of his heart ache, but it’s a life-affirming kind of pain. He doesn’t remember the last time he let himself feel as much as he does right now.

Maybe that’s why some part of his mind still believes that this is a dream. To convince himself of the opposite, Bellamy pulls back to ask, his voice thick with emotion, “What was the last thing you said to me?”

For a beat, Clarke appears confused before her eyes turn sad again. “I said… _Hurry._ ”

Battling the tears that threaten to spill over, Bellamy shakes his head. “I tried. I hope you know I did.”

Glancing at Madi, Clarke nods to wordlessly let him know that she never doubted him. She was scared for him, of course, but she never _doubted_ him. She knew he’d come back.

 

* * *

 

** Day 602 - Earth **

**__ **

_“Every time there’s a shooting star, do you wish for him?”_

_“Yeah… I wish for all of them.”_

_“I never really know what to wish for. I’ll just wish for them, too.”_

_Picking up the sketchbook, the one that Madi knows has a drawing of him on every other page, Clarke takes one last look at the sky before she tries to align his freckles again.)_

* * *

 

It’s only when their hands accidentally graze by the fire that she realizes that his might have changed, but she can’t be sure — because she doesn’t remember their shape and texture, just that they could make her feel so safe with almost no effort at all. 

Glancing at him, Clarke wants to tell him _everything,_ yet her eyes seem to have taken over as they carefully map every inch of his face. She wants to remember, and her insides scream to connect the memory of Bellamy with the man who’s sitting next to her right now, but somehow it seems as if they’re two separate people.

Honestly, she doesn’t know what makes her think that. Maybe he’s simply too silent, which makes her feel uneasy. Inhaling the chilly night air, Clarke looks to the sky, noting that he does the exact same right after.

“I never lost hope, you know?” The words fall from her lips before she has a chance to stop them, and she senses Bellamy’s gaze on her, can imagine the soft look in his eyes yet still can’t get herself to meet them.

 _Why?_

After half a minute has passed, Bellamy murmurs, “I’m glad you didn’t.”

Now, she looks at him, but his attention is fixed on his knee. Despite this, the way his jaw clenches reveals that he knows she’s looking at him. No, not looking. Staring, to be exact, because his voice when he replied had an edge that she doesn’t recall hearing before — an edge of sadness, guilt and… _Jealousy?_

It has her puzzled.

And when the others stand up to go to bed, she’s still trying to work it out. Maybe that’s why she asks him to stay. For some reason, she doesn’t expect him to, but he does.

What happens next is yet another thing that neither of them can explain, as time passes and the stars burn above them. Somehow, her head ends up in his lap, his fingertips discover the new flow of her hair, but they don’t say anything. Not a word. Not even goodnight.

She just falls asleep right there, and when she wakes up the next morning, a blanket is swept around her, caressing her cheek, as if trying to replace him — as if trying to convince her that she didn’t drift off to sleep against the worn fabric of pants yesterday. 

But if there’s one thing that she has learned over the last six years, it’s that there’s nothing on this godforsaken earth that can ever make her forget him…

 

* * *

 

** Day 2213 - Earth **

 

She tells them about the Eligius ship and is brought to understand just how much of a leader Bellamy has become. Certainly, he always was in a way, even if his heart was too big, too loud, too golden. Immediately, he’s going over possible ways to establish some sort of agreement with them, because the last thing they’re interested in is starting another war.

So they better do this right. 

But it doesn’t actually _feel_ right — Not when the only communication Clarke has with him is non-verbal: Nodding and hand-gesturing that doesn’t make up for lost time, and even though they used to do it all of the time, now it only makes the distance between them seem greater.

One night, they’ve been left alone by the rover as Madi has gone to bed. That’s when he speaks the first words to her in almost two weeks. “It’s okay, Clarke. I’ll think the rest through. We’ll talk about it in the morning.” 

After looking at him for a short minute, wanting to say something, Clarke gives up and starts to walk away until reality forcefully jabs at her heart, causing her to whip around. “I don’t know, will we? _Really?_ ”

Bellamy stares at her, the words having struck him by surprise. Then he opens his mouth as if to reply, but immediately closes it to frown at her instead. For a long while, the only sound is the breeze, which travels through the treetops where fireflies have started to glow: this kind of quiet used to make her feel calm — now, it just makes her _sad._  

Finally, he speaks, “I don’t—“ 

But the confession that stumbles out of her mouth won’t let him finish the sentence. “I miss you!” 

Blinking, Bellamy takes a determined step forward, and once her name emerges from his lips, it sounds like a broken promise. “Clarke…” 

The familiar softness of his voice has her sobbing without warning. Months ago, Madi had found her in the woods, choking on her own tears because she didn’t remember how his voice sounded anymore. To comfort her, Madi had told her to think of how it used to make her feel. Nevermind the fact that she couldn’t recall the warmth in every syllable as he spoke, as long as she knew that hearing him speak was like being hugged…

… Hugged like right now.

Because his arms wrap around her, pull her into his chest and she barely registers it. Only when he presses his lips to the crown of her hair does she realize how close they are. She takes the opportunity to breathe in his scent, expecting to recognize it, but she doesn’t: there’s no pine, no firewood or gunpowder — It’s all been lost after six years in space. 

“I just want you to talk to me,” she sniffs, pressing her forehead into his shoulder.

“I don’t know what to say,” he admits, using his fingers to tilt her face a little so that he can look into her eyes. “… I’m not the man you knew six years ago.”

She doesn’t remember ever hearing more despair in his voice, and it causes her to understand that he deeply wants to be someone he no longer is — for _her_.

“I lost you,” when he’s only able to croak that, Clarke takes his hand, refusing to break their intense eye contact. Six years ago, their eyes were so acquainted with each other that their hearts started to speak through them, spilling every emotion that words couldn’t express.

Her eyes want to know his again, want to search through endless shades of dark brown earth to find the truth, the missing pieces of him: She’ll take all of them, make a puzzle that she fears will be too big, unsolvable. 

Leading him into the woods, she squeezes his hand. Code for _‘Follow me’._

He squeezes back. Code for: _‘To the end of the world.’_

In spite of everything, they remember that. It must be in their bloodstreams somehow.

  

While they walk, she tells him how the woods saved her, not only because she found Madi there, but because it had been able to remind her of the beauty that she used to see on this planet: The sound of running water from natural springs replaced the memory of death little by little, and she found herself slowly coming to terms with everything that happened before Praimfaya. 

She takes him to her favorite spot, and he sits down next to her on the moss-covered tree trunk. Of course, he doesn’t know the story behind it, which is why he asks, confused, “Why is this your favorite spot?” From here, you can see what has become of the Earth, the scorched trees and fields of nothingness that surround the one spot of green. That’s all he remarks until she exhales.

“This is where I talked to you every day.” 

Because Bellamy simply looks at her in confusion, Clarke takes the radio with the recorded messages out of her backpack and places it in his hand. “You can listen… If you want to, if you ever feel ready.” 

Clenching his jaw a little, Bellamy nods and manages a small smile before he states, “Leaving you behind… It broke me,” From his voice, she can tell that he struggles to tell her the truth, even if he wants to, but it doesn’t surprise her. Most of the time, the truth is ugly. “I was a mess for a while until I decided to pick myself up, to do what you would’ve wanted me to. After killing you, I owed you that. I owed it to everyone.”

Clarke hadn’t realized that her hand has slipped into his again, and their fingers interlace easily. For a minute, they just sit beneath the star-speckled sky, silently praying for something. Neither of them knows exactly what, just that it really _matters._  

At last, she decides to break the quiet. “I don’t care if you’re not the person you were six years ago, because I’m not the same either. I’m—“ 

“A mother,” he finishes, smiling again, but it’s brighter this time, and she mirrors it easily. 

After that, she tells him the entire story of how Madi and her found each other, and he listens intensely, even though it looks as if he wants to cry half of the time. Yes, she wants to cry as well, to cry with him, but he deserves to know as much as she can tell him right now, so she doesn’t stop talking for minutes.

She tells him about hunting, about the things that she teaches Madi and about how they became each other’s saviors in a time of loneliness. At last, when she’s done talking, he doesn’t know what to say, but his gaze turn as soft as she remembers it being — then, he squeezes her hand again, exhaling pain into the starry night, and her heart swells when she feels it leave him.

Maybe there’s hope for them. 

Maybe they’ll find each other again…

 

* * *

 

  

** Day 578 - The Ring  **

****

_Of course, he doesn’t mean to find them. After a meeting about food rationing, he’d had a few drinks, taken a walk that somehow had led him to the Skybox, to the rows of empty cells that look incredibly plain as if no stories were written there, no dreams dreamt. Then again, when there’s a huge possibility that you’ll die upon spending time there, it’s not likely that dreaming is something you do much of._

_But her cell is different._

_As soon as he sees it, Bellamy knows that it’s hers — not because she put her initials on the drawings, but because there are drawings at all. Of Earth and its waterfalls, forests, sunsets and mountains, of rainbows and thunderstorms and butterflies. She’d drawn the planet’s undeniable beauty because she hadn’t seen its darkness and she sure as hell didn’t know that it was going to kill her._

_Running his fingertips across the soft strokes of charcoal, Bellamy hardly registers the tears that burn with the moonshine behind his eyelids just before they start to fall. He doesn’t bother to dry them away either, and soon falls to his knees under the weight of his own tears as he cries soundlessly yet uncontrollably. The dead silence of her cell is so bizarre when the drawings on its walls are full of life — make him remember that she used to be, too._

_She was a breath of life: Her eyes a vibrant blue ocean, her shoulders strong like mountains, and her heart was full of thunderstorms. Now, it’s all gone. There’s no beauty left, because she’s dead._

_To him, the Earth is just another black hole — and even though the tears are still streaming down his cheeks, there’s a fire igniting the pieces of his broken heart that wants him to rip the walls of this room apart, separate the moon and the stars, just like the Earth separated him and Clarke._

* * *

** Day 583 - Earth **

_Closing her eyes, Clarke wills her mind to remember the shape of his jawline. Slowly, her memories of him are fading, turning into a blur in a way that makes the drawing seem useless. She could spend every day trying to sketch his face and it still wouldn’t look right, wouldn’t look like the Bellamy she remembers. Perhaps, there’s no point in trying - perhaps he simply has too many different edges, too many expressions for her artistic mind to grasp._

_If he was hung in a museum like a painting, she could stare at him for hours without fully understanding how he was created. Did the universe combine all of its stars, turn empires to ruins and make the water sway in order to form a human Atlas?_

_She will never know._

_And it pains her._

_Because if she never really knew all of him, how will she remember him?_

* * *

 

** Day 2220 - Earth **

 

When Bellamy sees Madi sitting in the grass alone as Clarke talks to Raven, he decides to settle by her side, causing her to look at him immediately. Smiling a little, he tries to think of something to say, but it’s been so long since he’s talked to a child, and it doesn’t seem as natural as it used to. Then Madi speaks, “Clarke told me that you’re better at telling stories than she is.” 

At that, his eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “She did?” To think that Clarke has told Madi about him, about all of them, still blows his mind, even though the girl had revealed it when they first met.

Nodding, the young girl asks, barely shy, “Do you know any good ones?”

“Most of the stories I know are pretty sad,” Bellamy admits, internally listing all of the Greek myths that he remembers. However, the thought of tragedy doesn’t make Madi any less willing to listen, therefore he decides to tell her the story of Orpheus and Eurydice. It’s the one he remembers the most… 

He finishes the story, watches Madi absorb the last few details before she mutters a thank you and drums her fingertips on her knee. For a minute, it appears as if she’s in deep thought. “You told me the story because it reminds you of you and Clarke.” 

At first, Bellamy’s flabbergasted, unsure of how to deny it. Then he realizes: Orpheus was a man who killed the woman that he loved without ever meaning to, even though all that he wanted was to pull her from hell.

He can’t deny that if he could, he would have saved her — and he would rather have died with her than live without her.

 

In the afternoon, Bellamy teaches Madi to skip stones in the natural spring next to the camp and she proudly shows him the chess pieces that she carved out of wood. Happily, she talks about how she beats Clarke almost every time they play, and that’s when Bellamy’s eyes immediately start to search for her, only to discover that she’s standing no less than six feet from them, smiling widely. Mirroring the smile, Bellamy places a hand on Madi’s shoulder for a moment. “I gotta go speak to your— to Clarke for a minute, okay?”

“You can call her my mother if you want to. I’m sure she doesn’t mind.”

It’s not that he thinks she _would,_ but referring to Clarke as a mother — no matter how fitting the title is now — still seems pretty odd.

In spite of this, he smiles softly as he walks to her and says, “Smart kid. You’ve done a good job,” mostly because he believes she will appreciate hearing it — and if the way that her blue eyes beam at him instantly is any indication, she _really_ does. 

“We should have a meeting about opening that damned bunker,” Bellamy says, looking over his shoulder briefly to see Madi standing next to Raven, admiring the ship. Knowing that she’s in good hands, Clarke doesn’t feel guilty when she slips her hand into Bellamy’s and whispers, “Yes, but it can wait ‘til the morning. There’s something I want to show you.”

 

Turns out that the thing that she wants to show him is actually a place — a bunker, to be exact. A few miles from the camp, they stop and when Clarke leads him down a small flight of stairs, Bellamy expects to be met by darkness, but instead the flickering of candles and a few lamps take him by surprise. Still, that’s only the beginning, because as soon as he steps into the middle of the room, his eyes fall on the queen-sized bed.

“We sleep here when we’re not on the road,” Clarke explains, running a hand through her short hair. “Madi usually takes the hammock.” Bellamy nods, forcing his gaze off the bed. Drawings, most likely Clarke’s, and decorative pieces of wood, probably Madi’s work, hang on the walls.

“It’s very… _Homey._ ”

Without thinking it through, he sits down on the bed and is almost startled when she takes the spot next to him. As if the heavy silence that follows has him enchanted, Bellamy can’t stop looking into her eyes. Frankly, he soon finds himself drowning in thousand different shades of blue within her gaze, especially when he watches the colors ignite while a smile pulls at the corners of her lips.

 _The Clarke he knew six years ago only smiled in his dreams._

Suddenly, the sensation of their thighs touching sends shockwaves through his entire body, because he realizes how close they’re sitting — close enough that he can count her eyelashes, feel the brush of her fingertips against his — close enough that one of them could tilt their head and they’d be _kissing._

 _Why has she brought him here, to a place with comfortable bed, candles and comfort?_ Even though he’s sure there at least ten explanations, his mind can only focus on one…

 

* * *

 

** Day 43 - The Ring **

_Next to him, a soft smile stretches across her face as the grass brushes her bare skin. He wants nothing more than to touch her, to map the curves of her body and kiss her until that smile on her face becomes eternal. Running his fingertips along her spine, Bellamy notices that although it’s still slightly bent, the broken bones have mostly healed and the fire that used to burn between her shoulder blades has died down a little._

_Or so he thought._

_Struck by relief, he leans in to kiss her, letting his thumb brush her cheekbone, but when he pulls back, her ivory skin is covered in horrifying blisters and is slowly being eaten away by fire._

_He is helpless, paralyzed and forced to watch her dissolve in front of him…_

_… When he startles awake, sobs have skinned the inside of the throat and his skin is covered in sweat, although chills run through his body, making him feel sick._

 

* * *

 

Clenching his jaw at the memory, Bellamy stands up abruptly as if the comforter burned him. Then he walks to the desk in the corner without throwing a glance back at her, although it’s difficult when he can sense her eyes linger at the back of his neck, and the skin there starts to prickle. Also, he has to push his hands into his pockets because it’s the only way to prevent them from touching her.

“Bellamy…” When Clarke mutters his name, he’s too shocked to react: On the desk is an unfinished drawing of a man with dark eyes and hair, a sharp jawline and freckles across his cheeks which she has connected in neat constellations — an unfinished drawing of _him._ At the sight, his lips start to part in awe. It looks _exactly_ like him, just without the beard.

The feeling of her hand taking his knocks him back to reality. “… It’s not finished yet. I was planning to, but… you came down, so—“

“You drew me.”

She blinks, clearly swallowing a lump in her throat before she replies, “Yes. All the time actually.” 

And those words are the last straw, as his hands escape his pockets and one of them reaches out to caress her cheek. At the gentle touch, Clarke’s eyes fall shut, and she’s obviously oblivious to the fact that his heart is pounding against his ribcage while fear’s rushing through his bloodstream like a terrible drug. Internally, he counts the seconds, wondering how many will pass before she disappears, but she doesn’t.

Instead, she’s standing in front of him, alive, even if her breathing has become slightly ragged from how he’s touching her, his hands seeming much more patient than they actually are. 

“I dreamt about you,” the admission stumbles out of his mouth without permission, which is what tells him how deeply his heart craves being close to hers, so it can spill the countless truths that he has been to afraid to say.

When she looks up at him, the ocean that’s caught within her eyes seems ten times wider. Stepping almost impossibly closer, she doesn’t break their intense eye contact, and Bellamy’s arms wrap around her waist as if they have a mind of their own.

“I doubt they were happy dreams.”

After saying that, Clarke lets her hand touch his cheek, mapping the stubble that has surrounded the bronze stars on the skin there. 

She knows that he’s afraid, that his head and heart are in a horrible conflict right now. Maybe that’s why she steps away from him and takes a few deep breaths before she says, “… About the meeting.” 

Just like that, the course of the night is changed, and even though Bellamy knows that his mind is relieved, he can only feel the disappointment of his heart burning like poison in his chest, because _he should’ve kissed her. He should’ve kissed her six years ago, and he should’ve done it now, but it never seems like anything but a crazy risk._

* * *

 

** Day 2240 - Earth **

In the morning, they go on a mission undercover inside the Eligius ship to find out if an attack is being planned, because the people have been less than willing to make an agreement with them. After all, the green spot is small considering that it’s the only place that’s viable.

Bellamy seems tired, but Clarke doesn’t know that it’s because he’d stayed up all night, listening to her radio messages, crying more with each one.

 _“Bellamy, it’s been 120 days since Praimfaya. You won’t believe what I’m about to say. I’m not the only person alive on Earth! I found a girl, about eight years old, I think. I think a few days will pass before she fully trusts me, because she’s lived on her own for so long_. _At least I have, too, so we understand each other. Anyway, I want you to know that I’m alive and I’m not alone anymore.”_

 _“Bellamy, it’s been 576 days since Praimfaya. I wonder if Raven has found a way to get you down already. It wouldn’t surprise me if she has. I’ve been teaching Madi to make hunting traps, even though it doesn’t look like we’ll have to use them anytime soon. I miss you.”_

_“Bellamy, it’s been 1989 days since Praimfaya. I have a few questions for you: How many freckles do you have? How does your voice sound? And most importantly, are you happy?”_

In the last one, he’d heard the pain in every syllable that she spoke, and it hurts to even think about the fact that he was never able to answer those questions.

 

Murphy and Emori had somehow managed to make it past the guards and steal eight uniforms the night before, so sneaking inside wasn’t as hard as they thought it would be. Moving around the ship and listening in on conversations, however, was going to be tricky.

“Bellamy and Echo, will you watch the East wing while Monty and I try to hack into their radio communication system?”

Looking at Bellamy, who doesn’t meet her eyes, Echo nods as if she doesn’t expect that that he’ll say, “No. I’m going with Clarke.”

And that refusal can be seen in Clarke’s gaze as well. There’s no way they’re separating voluntarily again when they know that the last time they did, they didn’t see each other for six years. _It’s simply not worth the risk._

They walk for awhile in silence without noticing anything particularly suspicious until Bellamy does a double take and spots a conference room, where at least thirty adults are gathered for some sort of meeting. Of course, it might be harmless, but after dealing with politics and wars during their time on Earth, this is something that sets off multiple alarms in their minds.

“We need to get closer,” Clarke whispers. “I wanna hear what they’re talking about.”

As silently as possible, they move towards the door, which has been left slightly open, and even though they can’t see much through it, they can hear a man speaking.

“Do we make the agreement or not? We don’t know how much of the green land we’ll have for ourselves if we do that. Then again, going into battle is risky, even though they’re few. I’ve heard that their leaders have killed more people than you and I could ever imagine.”

A woman replies after a couple of seconds, “If we do want to attack, I think we should step carefully. We live right next to them, and we never know if they’ll become suspicious of us.”

“Evelyn, I think they already are.”

Just as the man has said that, Bellamy pulls at her sleeve, because luckily for both of them he’d quickly noticed that the two people were heading towards the door. Trying not to worry despite the fact that panic has started coursing through her veins, Clarke lets Bellamy press her into a dark corner next to the door.

For what seems like an eternity, they listen to the footsteps of the people that leave the conference room, breathing raggedly and in sync until it’s finally silent. But as much as that seemed like a relief at the first second, another moment passes and they realize that there is _no_ distance between their bodies, their noses are grazing, and Clarke can feel his lips brush over hers every time he takes a breath.

To force her eyes from his, Clarke looks around. “I think I heard something. Are they gone?”

Placing his warm hand to her cheek, Bellamy successfully pulls her gaze back, which allows the colors of their eyes to connect again. “It’s okay,” he murmurs, “We’re alright.”

Those four words don’t just speak for right now. No, they speak for the numerous times filled with fear of losing each other, of eternities spent with guilt and regret, of the hope that seemed so weak that it was as if everything was lost. They speak for all of the broken promises, the light and darkness that they bring to each other’s lives — and the courage that roars in his chest so violently that he has no choice but to let it out.

His lips are downy against hers at the first touch. In fact, it’s barely a touch at all and more of brush, but she chases his mouth once it leaves hers, and the next time they collide, there isn’t the slightest hint of hesitation. Kissing her hungrily, Bellamy presses her against the cold wall, groaning into her mouth when she grabs his shoulders in retaliation. Desperate for some kind of friction, he places his hands under her thighs to lift her off the ground, and as her legs wrap around his waist for support, her fingertips bury themselves in the curls of his hair. 

It feels like drowning, but instead of water, it’s an ocean of flames that lick up their skin and start to burn every bit of logic in their minds, which Bellamy realizes once he starts kissing her neck. The sensation of it causes Clarke to gasp his name, and the only working part of his brain screams to remind him that they’re in the _wrong_ place. 

Probably doing the _wrong_ thing.

But if it’s wrong, why does it feel like rightest thing he has ever done?

For a solid minute, they stare at each other, the colors of their eyes that mixed before almost completely swallowed by their blown pupils. When Bellamy speaks, it sounds like someone else’s voice. “Adrenaline… Powerful stuff.” 

She gapes at him, and he can’t blame her. _What the fuck is wrong with him?_ He curses himself even more when she finally says something and he detects hurt in her voice. 

“We should probably find the others and report back.”

“Yeah…”

 

* * *

 

That night, Clarke doesn’t join them for dinner, and everyone talks about how weird that is considering that they need to talk about how to avoid the potential battle that’s coming up. Meanwhile, there’s a big lump of guilt clogging Bellamy’s throat, making him unable to eat. Simply thinking about what he said to her after fucking _kissing_ her like there was no tomorrow makes him feel sick, which is something that Madi seems to pick up on.

“You’re not hungry? Clarke isn’t either. She told me… Oh, wait. She also said that she wanted to talk to you and that you could meet her in the bunker after dinner.”

Managing a nervous smile, Bellamy picks at his dry portion of nuts. When he looks to the sky, he finds it starless, which tells him that this day isn’t going to end well.

With every step that he takes down the stairs of the bunker, Bellamy’s legs feel heavier and his throat ties together like a knot, trapping the air in his lungs. When he’s finally made it to the last step, his eyes instinctively find hers, because some habits can’t be unlearned. Swallowing at the sight of both fire and flood with her blue gaze, Bellamy manages to say, “You wanted to talk to me.” 

“I don’t wanna _talk,_ ” somehow she makes it sound like the most natural response in the world, acts as if she’s unaffected by it. Well, he certainly isn’t — everything within him stalls, and his heart does weird leaps that feel like backflips in his chest. “We have unfinished business to settle.”

A few minutes ago, Bellamy was convinced that he’d be forced to realize how much he’d hurt her earlier by using pathetic excuses for making out with her like fucking _adrenaline._ Now, he’s taken aback by how she kisses him, her lips meeting his in a patient yet confident way that makes his mind want to hurl itself into oblivion.

But of course it can’t. Not anymore. For six years, he has followed her advice, trying to honor her and becoming the kind of leader that could assure the survival of his people, and he can’t turn his head off anymore, can’t simply throw his arms around her and tear her clothes off despite how much he wants to. 

“Clarke—“

When he breaks away, the anger paints her facial expression immediately, putting lightning in her stormy eyes and furrowing her eyebrows. “Are we just going to pretend that it never happened? Is that what you want?”

“ _No_ , I’m done pretending.” 

She crosses her arms at that, clearly an inch from losing it. “Then tell me the truth! Did you kiss me just because of adrenaline?” As she finishes the question, Bellamy senses the pain in her voice again and has to fight to not look at his feet in guilt. 

Slowly, the truth that his heart has been begging him to speak for what feels like a lifetime is finding an escape route. He can feel it rising in his chest just before he replies, his voice more certain than he thought it’d be, “Of course not. I’m sorry that I said it.” 

“Then why did you?” 

That’s certainly a good question, and it’s going to be difficult to form a proper response, but he’s going to try anyway, because she deserves that. She deserves much more than he could ever give her… _It’s the terrible truth._

“You don’t understand,” he starts only to immediately realize that he couldn’t possibly have thought of anything worse to say. Therefore, he continues. “You were _dead,_ Clarke. I _grieved_ you, for longer than I’d like to admit. And I spent so much time trying to suppress everything that I was feeling, that you made me feel because I wanted to honor your memory, wanted to lead by using my head as well as my heart, so that our people had a chance of survival.”

He takes a ragged breath, trying to collect himself. “In the end, I thought I succeeded pretty well, but then I come down here, and you’re _alive_ and the hard shell that I’d spent so much time building to protect myself and everyone else just fucking _crumbles_ around me, and suddenly I feel everything at once: Every bit of pain and love and happiness and courage that you filled me with, and I don’t know how to deal with that, because it’ll never be enough. No matter how many times we kiss, no matter if I stay here tonight and make love to you, it’s not— it’s not gonna bring us back. It’s not going to turn me into the man I was six years ago who could actually handle this.” 

Once he’s finished talking at last, Clarke’s eyes that have filled with tears look into his softy. “Bellamy, your heart might not rule your thoughts as much as it used to, but it still overcomplicates them,” Worrying her lower lip, she lets her thumb brush his cheekbone. “Do you want me?”

“More than anything.” 

At that, her eyelids have to flutter shut to hide the tears that want to run down her cheeks. “Then _please._ Don’t overthink it.”

When he leans down, capturing her lips with his own, Bellamy does what he for the past six years had thought impossible: He turns off his mind, lets it be enchanted by the softness of her, the love that he feels as it folds itself into every corner of him. It doesn’t matter if he gets lost for a little while, because it’s _Clarke —_ He can finally hold her, and he’s not sure he’ll know how to let go again.

They make it to the bed in a blur of the clothes they pull off one another. Feeling braver than he has in a long time, Bellamy lets his hands discover patches of her skin that he hasn’t touched before, and eventually realizes that he’s no longer afraid of it catching fire. After mumbling sweet nonsense against her throat, Bellamy pulls her into his lap.

“Are you sure?”

“Definitely,” she smiles, burying one hand in his hair and placing the other on sternum. For a breathtaking moment, their eyes lock, speaking a thousand words per second, all of them soft. As Bellamy’s hands move to her spine, Clarke straddles him, intentionally grinding down in search of some friction. It results in a low groan from him, and she simply grins against his mouth.

“Been a while for you too, huh?”

“Yeah,” this is all he says before placing a chaste kiss to her collarbone, but because she finally pushes down on him, his affection quickly turns into a groan. Wrapping his arms protectively around her, Bellamy kisses her passionately, and that’s the beginning of everything that they never thought would happen… 

The world could turn to ashes around them, and they wouldn’t care for a moment. At some point, being as close as humanly possible has the hearts bleeding, and while their love for each other floods the sheets, Bellamy’s tears spill onto her shoulder and she trembles in his embrace. 

“Bellamy…” Clarke’s hand finds his instinctively, and their fingertips lace together. A few moments later, he pushes her off the edge, causing her breath to hitch mid-sob. 

Then, there’s a sudden rumble that’s rising in her chest and emerges from her parted lips as _giggles_ — _actual_ giggles, which remind her of the fact that she hasn’t had an orgasm in six years. Cocking his eyebrows, Bellamy grins at her for a second before he lets his teeth graze the soft spot below her jaw. While she winds down, Clarke writes poems across his back using the sweat drops that have gathered there like invisible ink.

_I asked the stars to make you eternal_

_I asked the stars to carve you into the sky_

_I asked the stars to remember you_

_But they took all of this_

_And realized_

_That they had to bring you back to me_

They spend half of the night making love and the rest of it clinging to each other, because they’re finally _close._ Every bit of distance, physical and emotional, has evaporated at last and all there’s left is the raw emotion that crashes over both of them like a tidal wave as soon as they’ve fully understood what just happened.

Tears linger in her eyes as she draws random patterns on his bicep, but she doesn’t say anything. When he pulls her closer, pressing a kiss into her hair, however, she suddenly asks, “What’s your middle name?”

“Huh?”

“I want to know your middle name. Please tell me.”

Even though Bellamy still appears a little taken aback by the question, the certainty in her gaze seems to convince him. “It’s Augustus… What’s yours?” 

Smiling, she presses her index finger to his full lower lip. “It’s Elizabeth, after my grandmother. She’s the one I inherited my artistic mind from.” 

At that, Bellamy smiles too. “Clarke Elizabeth Griffin.”

With that, he places a hand to the back of her head and pulls her in for a passionate yet slightly lazy kiss. For a minute, they let themselves drown again, until another question emerges from her lips _while_ she’s on top of him. “What’s your favorite color?” 

Bellamy’s eyes fill with amused sparks, causing her heart to take a leap. “Blue. Now, are you gonna fuck me or not, Clarke Elizabeth?” 

Snorting, she rolls her eyes. “If you keep calling me that, no.”

“Hey! You told me. Don’t expect me not to use it.”

Clarke mirrors the look in his eyes, leans down to kiss him and caves, “Alright, fine, but _only_ when we’re in bed.” 

Immediately, the promise in those words startles both of them: _this isn’t going to end when the sun comes up._ This place will be their refuge, a place where they can love each other without thinking of the world outside. _This bed is theirs_ — and this is the start of the chapter they never had the courage to imagine. They never believed it’d ever be written.

Before they fall asleep, Bellamy tells her of his regrets. 

“Not telling you I loved you felt like the worst thing I ever did… I kept dreaming of parallel universes, of a house near the woods, a king-sized bed and wonderfully lazy Sunday mornings. I wanted to make you happy, Clarke. I just never thought I’d be able to, not in this world.”

The last thing Clarke whispers to him before she drifts off is that _he couldn’t have been more wrong._

* * *

 

Like the creation of universes, relearning each other takes time, but sleeping together make them realize that there’s no point in wanting to go back to the start. Together, they’re headed for the future, standing tall next to each other like mountains. Bellamy had a point when he said that making one another happy would be difficult, but the important thing is that they _try —_ try as though it’s the only thing worth getting right. Some mornings, he pulls her back into the sheets, surprising her with soft kisses, and other mornings they discuss politics over breakfast, bickering until someone cuts in. 

But that’s the beauty of Earth, Bellamy supposes while trying to pretend that he hasn’t noticed that Clarke is sketching him _again._ Life isn’t a fairytale; it’s rough around the edges, a crooked kind of masterpiece, but it’s so much better with her in it. 

When they’re _together,_ life’s as close to perfect as it can be.

_And that’s all that matters._


End file.
